


The Depths of Winter

by ScarlettsLetters



Series: Winter Storm Warning [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor - All Media Types, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Birthday Sex, Bottom Thor (Marvel), Boys Kissing, Boys in Chains, Cuffs, Dom Bucky Barnes, Erotic Electrostimulation, Finger Sucking, Flogging, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Clamps, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Romance, Spanking, Thor (Marvel) is Not Stupid, Top Bucky Barnes, Wax Play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-08 13:18:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14106240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarlettsLetters/pseuds/ScarlettsLetters
Summary: Bucky thought he'd spend his 101st birthday alone. Thor has plans, beginning with the best present a man could wish for:"Yes, Bucky. You can do whatever you want. I’m all yours.”





	1. Gebo: The Gift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Winterlightning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterlightning/gifts).



> Striking off a prompt of “Why would you go through all this trouble for me?” Comments, feedback, and kudos always warmly welcome.

Handlers taught him the importance of being in the black, clean of any tails. Survival in the Cold War depended on his ability to feel for surveillance on a busy street, distinguishing hostiles from smiling pedestrians or a sea of vehicles. Basic tradecraft taught to every spook from DC to Moscow covered the signs, someone loitering too long with a newspaper on a corner or the same faces in different places.

Those ones gave seasoned operatives little concern. The real masters of the great game vanished without a sound and never revealed their faces until the last minute, if that.

Bucky knew he wasn’t in the black. Every sense radiated danger, intuition hammered by the growing certainty someone followed him. An hour since he departed from the parking garage, headed for Brooklyn, and the unseen presence clung to him still.

Old routines fell into place: strolling in and out of shops, cutting a slow meander through the South Slope of Brooklyn. No need to rush.  The streets changed immensely from his childhood, but he was a Brooklyn kid. Real estate signs and closing sales papered the dollar stores and cheap delis lining the main drag, and he checked in every window for a glimpse of his persistent tail.

The fox didn’t show its face. Surveillance continued, he affected a casual air of a man going for a stroll. After descending the stairs into a dismal station, he caught the next a train south for two stops and disembarked at 25 Street Station. Thin pedestrian traffic trickled around him, disbursed at street level in every direction. A deli commanded the frontage immediately in front of the stairwell,

He ducked inside, greeted by the tang of Russian dressing and carved turkey. Scanning the parade of brightly coloured sandwiches, he let two customers ahead of him. No one looked twice at Bucky, in part thanks to the dapper jeans and man-bun that gave him the look of any other hipster around the borough. 

One sandwich order later, he sauntered for the pristine depths of Green-Wood Cemetery. Its enclosed black fence would prove no detriment for him to scale in a jump if things came to that. Spring remained over the horizon, leaving the bare-limbed trees shorn of tender foliage. Still, the clipped hedgerows and evergreens afforded ample cover and few direct lines of sight.

Forty minutes wandering the meandering paths around monuments to departed tycoons and touching mausoleums, and he caught a cue of the fox once. He heard the heavy footfalls on a path adjacent to him, but turned too late to see any signs of the man.

 _Had to be a man. Too heavy for a woman_. Indexing his choices, he briskly stashed the remnants of his sandwich in a trash can full of dead flowers and wilted ribbons. A dash for the fence cleared the nine foot high barrier.

Someone was going to pay for hunting Bucky on that day of all days. 

 _They really have no decency._ He gritted his teeth and angled for the subway on the opposite side of the sprawling cemetery.

 

* * *

 

Brighton Beach looked shabby and tired out, an actor gone past his prime into bit roles with the absence of tourists. Little sunlight percolated through the overhead tracks onto sagging, falsely bright awnings desperately hawking multicultural experiences or delicious food. Bucky passed them all, headed across the frenetic traffic for the forgotten boardwalk.

He shared Coney Island with the seagulls and a couple university students fiddling with their smartphones. Them he gave a wide berth, categorizing their faces and carrying on when nothing hit. Had anyone followed his convoluted route from Green-Wood Cemetery, he expected the boardwalk to vibrate with the weight of their heavy footfalls. Fabled attractions mesmerizing a generation of children held perfectly still, Surf Avenue totally desolate. Shuttered ice cream shops and hot dog stands dipped away into chain link fences enclosing motionless rides, the listless prisoners on the war against wholesome entertainment.

Not even the old Ferris wheel, the site of a hundred childhood fantasies, turned in the late winter afternoon. Heavy brine from the surging Atlantic on the ungroomed beach rolled over him. Bucky glanced around, checking exit and entry paths. People were thin on the ground, fewer as he approached the beach. If anyone intended to act, here in the open would be the likeliest spot.

 _Fuck that. They can come to me, I’m not coming to them_.

The irony of the red and white Thunderbolt rollercoaster tracing demented loops was not lost on him, and he stifled a grim smirk.   

Committed on his course, he slipped into a forgettable ice cream shop straight on the boardwalk. A tired teenage girl looked up from her phone as he slid inside and licked her lips, assessing him from head to toe.

He briefly glanced at the menu. “Deluxe sundae,” he said. She gathered up two scoops and waited for further instruction, hovering over the chilled case of thick fruity gelato. “Three scoops, huh? Gimme strawberry cheesecake, white chocolate macaroon, and…” He skimmed over the list, pointing at stracciatella. “What’s that?”

“Stracciatella,” the girl replied, bending to start carving the soft gelato into an oblong delis. “Shaved chocolate in vanilla ice cream.”

“Sounds better than birthday cake. Let’s do that. Can I get chocolate on top?”

She nodded, her eyes never leaving his face through her thick mascara lashes. Bucky gave a slight smile to encourage her to hurry along, fishing out a few wadded up bills from his back pocket.

The heavy-handed application of whipped cream and dazzling nut constellations disappeared under two pumps of hot syrup. She somehow managed to cram two pieces of Italian orange sponge cake in the dish, and a speckling of shaved chocolate curls. She produced the finished dish, something as large as a baby dolphin, with a little fanfare.

“Oooh, look at that. You gonna be able to eat that all by yourself?” She waited for his response, clearly awaiting something.

He handed over the money. “Thanks. Looks great. Reckon I can make a dent in it.” It did look perfectly appetizing, and nothing short of a nuclear detonation in Manhattan stood between him and savouring that calorie heavy dessert.

“So what’s the special occasion?” she asked.

“Nothing much,” Bucky answered.

Her eyes carried doubt about his answer, the plastered smile on her face almost plastic. Alarm sent him back a step, reaching for the pistol hidden under his coat.

He rotated, the dish balanced in his gloved hand. The heretofore empty corner booths, each barely large enough for a couple, positively overflowed in a way they had not minutes before.

Red and blue balloons clogged the corners in a spray of bubbles. Foil banners strung in arched rainbows between them prominently declared _Happy Birthday_. The two tabletops groaned under an impressive collection of liquor bottles in grandiose designs, opulent golden armour strung over round and thin glass horns. A prominent, stout candelabra blazed with far too many thin tapers to abide by the New York fire code.

Bucky stared in mute silence, his jaw tightening.

“Who did this?” he asked, the sundae forgotten in his hand.

The teenager gaped at him, all colour draining out under her powdered foundation. Panic bloomed in her brown eyes when he pointed the pistol straight at her chest, unwavering.

“I-- I-- d-don’t-- he--” she stammered out.

“He?” 

Old reflexes kicked in and he blocked a blow to his firing arm. A huge hand closed around the pistol and pulled it from his resisting fingers easily. Distrust morphed into plain bewilderment, for someone with that careless strength could only be one person.

“Surprise, Barnes!” Thor announced, sending the teenager scurrying for the back corner and the relative safety of her phone. “Are you pleased?”

“What is this?” Bucky forced the words through his gritted teeth. A dollop of cream slid over his knuckles, dislodged from the mountain of white chocolate macaroon gelato. “Have you been following me?”

The blond Asgardian smirked. “Aye, and you took forever to decide on your location.”

He had a thing or two to tell Thor about following him, but an ice cream shop in Coney Island was neither the time or place. He forced a tight smile to cover the jittery comedown from his adrenaline surge. Tension flooded through his system. “Coulda given me a wave.”

“And spoil the celebration? I know enough about Midgard customs.” Thor gestured at the tables. The candles blazing on their golden candelabra shone over the liquors, and Bucky was certain one of them was smoking despite the wax-licked stopper. Smoking a faint blue mist, in fact.

Most things added up, but not all. He wheeled on Thor. “Why would you go through all this trouble for me?”

“You would never be consent to a proper feast celebrating your birthday.” Thor’s levity dispelled the bluff amusement, and he leaned in slightly to Bucky. “It was clear enough to me you meant to do something by yourself. Perfectly acceptable but what sort of friend would I be not to show I cared?”

More ice cream and sauce dribbled over Bucky’s fingers. He clutched the dish as a lifeline to sanity, some proof in the cool substance coursing in a sticky slick over his skin this was _real_ , and he had not fallen back into some nocturnal hallucination brought on by stress.

“ _Why?”_ Words cut slowly through the haze. “I mean, why do _you_ care?”  
  
Thor furrowed his brow and reached out to take the dish before the whole gelato terrain suffered a landslide onto the floor. He set it among the candles on the table, a place of pride. “You really don’t know.”

Bucky shot him a withering look and took a step back involuntarily.

With infinite care, Thor reached out to take Bucky’s wrist. Eyes clear and brilliant topaz blue turned on him, full of an inquiry that he didn’t understand.

 _Since when did Thor give a fuck if it’s my birthday?_ The equation never added up, and in his line of work, any imbalance usually led to fatalities.

“Why?”  
  
“Let me show you why.” An implicit question hung on Thor’s response.

What the hell did he have to lose? He nodded, giving consent to whatever followed. With his luck, a marching band and troupe of dancers cheering Steve’s name. Or Thor’s. Or Tony’s, even. No one sang the praises of the Winter Soldier, not even in his heyday.

Thor bowed his head over Bucky’s gelato streaked hand. For a moment the formality of the bow felt absurd -- the man was a prince, a god worshipped by actual human beings for actual centuries. He pulled back by instinct but the broad fingers clamped around his wrist refused to yield.

A glimpse of those ardent blue eyes turned up to him, right as Thor ran his tongue over a streak of white chocolate. Every sense under Bucky’s skin seized with the dab of velvet muscle in a long lick. The tip plunged between his index and ring finger, curling around to find the traces of cream.

The whole world reduced to the feel of Thor’s lips warm on the back of his knuckles and the advancing heat that trailed along his flesh. Bucky pulled in a stuttering breath as the fine golden whiskers tickled him, and he allowed the god to turn his hand over to place an open-mouthed kiss in the crook of his palm.

Forget the fizzy alcohol and the gelato. He cast a look for the server in case she filmed the whole affair on her phone, a distant note of concern bursting through the hazy depths of desire.

“She can’t see you,” Thor murmured in muffled vibrations along the inside of his wrist.

“How?”

“I think of everything.” There came a chance glimpse of a smirk curling at the corners.

“How long have you planned this?”

A gentle bite to the fleshiest part of his hand rocketed a spreading heat through Bucky and he locked his knees for stability. Only fair he curl his hands in the cropped blond hair spilling around his digits like gold. Nothing like Steve’s fair, military cut -- Thor netted the sunshine and firelight glow of a hearth.

Maybe it wasn’t right to compare his past love with a present -- whatever it was -- but Bucky stilled his thoughts to appreciate the sensation. He groomed his fingers over Thor’s scalp, drawn to the jagged lightning at the temples still growing in to a uniform length.

Against his hand, the blond groaned his approval and retaliated by wrapping his lips around Bucky’s middle finger.

The soldier started. Nothing quite prepared him for the vigorous suction and the satiny slide down his knuckle. He abandoned all thought of smiling heroes and unrequited affection, his heart pounding in his chest and mind curious light from an absence of oxygen. He rocked with the rise and fall of that hot mouth sucking his finger in to the base and withdrawing.

Thor wrapped his tongue around the digit, a velvet constriction pulling up and down. All traces of the gelato vanished but he suckled as though Bucky were the treat, not the slowly melting dish.

By the time he reclaimed the index finger, the blond god pulled Bucky to the booth. Not enough room for either of them in the table, but the brunet fit slightly better. He faced the aisle where Thor knelt, his eyes shadowed by lust, heavy-lidded.

Plans assembled from the grab bag of emergency escapes taught by hard experience as the Winter Soldier came to the fore. Bucky cleared his throat.

“Not here,” he said.

Thor looked up, a smile on his lips and blooming intensity in his expression a breathtaking thing to see. “As you say, Barnes.”

 _So that’s how it’s gonna be?_ Even imagining commanding a prince of an immortal people, some imaginary realm, fit naturally. His training as a sergeant lay in there somewhere. Bucky nodded to the ice cream and the balloons.

“That’s sir.” A minor correction, but a potent one that threw an electric spark between them. Thor dragged his teeth over Bucky’s thumb and nodded. “You planned for all this?”

Thor nodded. “Every part.” He missed a beat, then added, “Sir. I meant it when I said I would give you a birthday you would never forget.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Thor.”

“I was hoping you would be open-minded enough to.” The grin about sent him to his knees, had Bucky not already been securely seated.

What the hell was he doing? Frankly, he didn’t care. He swore back in Green-Wood Cemetery to punish the fox for interrupting his birthday, and if codename fox turned out to be Thor Odinson? He deserved a spot of sport.

“Clean this up,” he said. “Then let’s get out of here. You _owe_ me for the stunt you pulled.”

Thor nodded and waved his hand, banishing the whole display right down to the candles and the gelato. Not a drip of wax marked the table, not a hint of ice cream anywhere.

 _I’ll want those candles back. Later, though_. Bucky made a mental footnote as he checked the oblivious girl thumbing through Tumblr, ignorant to the show before her.

“Good, sir?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, “but I still intend you to take your punishment. Don’t want anyone thinking I’ve gone soft.”

He slid out from the booth and Thor rose from kneeling after him, making the courtly gesture seem perfectly normal. Almost regretful, he relinquished his hand from the god’s grasp, still feeling the ember burn of kisses and suckling on every digit.

The cool, stinging air of March wrapped around them on the boardwalk. Thor gave only the slightest arch of his eyebrows, sending a ripple of lust through the mortal. He nodded. A heartbeat later, the Bifrost crashed down around them in a burst of prismatic radiance, and whisked them away.

* * *

Seagulls squawked and fluttered off. The girl in the ice cream shop hastily leapt from her stool, scrambling to flip the open side to _closed_.

She stumbled into the empty booth in the corner, hunching as low as she could. Her fingers wrapped around the device shook, and she pressed the app button three times before the video popped up.

Her fingers slid under her jeans and past her panties, rubbing over the concealed nub of her clit. She stroked furiously as she watched the blond suckling on Bucky Barnes’ fingers.

It was going to be a long shift.

 


	2. Thurisaz: The Thunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor offers himself up as the star attraction for Bucky's special day. Seeing opportunity, Bucky introduces his princely lover to a good old-fashioned American tradition: birthday spankings.

His feet touched solid ground amidst the prismatic waterfall of countless starry lights. The moment his boot scraped the floor, Bucky loosened his embrace around the golden-haired god responsible for transporting him out of a Coney Island ice cream shop in the most spectacular means imaginable.

“Was all that show really necessary?” His grousing papered over the bemusement settling uneasily in his belly.

Thor shook out his arms to his sides, rolling his broad shoulders. “When is a spectacle unworthy?”

“A bit flashy, that's all.”

“Do you resent Stark his sports cars or Doctor Strange his portals?”

Golden brows lifted, Thor's effervescent grin refused to show the least bit of shame or restraint when it came to summoning the Bifrost Bridge. All for the purpose of shunting Bucky and his birthday cake -- fine, feast -- out of a shop.

Without a word, he buried both his hands in that leonine mane. Fingers curled hard to pull the strands taut and impart a sting on the scalp. He knew full well he could use his full strength without risk here, never holding back for fear of bruising or damaging a partner.

Better, considering he pulled his Asgardian into a firm, demanding kiss. The immediate response shifted that grin, smothering out the flaming heat entirely. Lips parted and he thrust his tongue past Thor's teeth, tasting the sweet warmth and traces of honey wine lingering behind.

Thor kissed as good as he got, and the sampled roughness only followed Bucky's lead rather than overwhelm it. They vied over control in the twining of their tongues, a few jabs here and there. But Bucky pressed his advantage, and drank down the god with just his mouth. He kissed like he meant to be inside his lover, drawing out thirty seconds into five breathless minutes until even his air gave out.

The pale redness of that mouth implied the bruising force he brought to bear, a badge of honour. Every mark he lavished, Thor donned with wordless pride and a dare to level more.

“You're never satisfied, are you?”

“Would you have that I were?”

Bucky shook his head.

Red cloth light as a dream tumbled in a heap to the floor when he disengaged his hands from pulling on the leonine golden hair and pulled out the pins. The cape puddle in a blood-red mass, leaving him free to sculpt out the lines of the navy tunic.

“No armour?” He tugged at the mesh sides, seeking a way to drag the unwanted garment over Thor's head.

“No threat save arriving too late. A t-shirt would be too casual, full battle armour too overbearing.”

“You have an answer for damn near everything.” Bucky gripped Thor's chin, angling his face up to kiss him again while he hauled up the tunic to expose the flat, corrugated expanse of a divinely built abdomen.

Thor aided where he could, sliding his arms out through the sleeves. The mesh on the tunic retreated in a midnight tide across his chest, the garment hanging loose by the collar. Their kiss deepened and he groaned into Bucky's mouth. The hints of stracchiatella were long gone but not his quest for finding hints.

Neither willingly broke their kiss. The shirt hung forgotten as Bucky slid his vibranium hand underneath the belted trousers and began to stroke Thor to semi-hardness with deliberately slow, toying strokes. Swallowing a groan, he refused to build up any speed, each pump of his fist taking long seconds to complete.

“Wider.” He lightly kicked the instep of Thor's boot, and nodded in approval when the god adjusted his stance further than shoulder width. Looked plenty like parade rest, which held some of its charm.

Bucky rolled his grooved thumb around the full bell of the crown, gathering the first spare beads of wetness for lubrication.

“Some day, I'm going to make you wear a uniform,” he said.

Thor slid the tunic over his head and tossed it onto the cape, both piles of fabric staining the floor like discarded paints. His eyes betrayed the arousal burning within him, a pair of brilliant indigo embers going heavy-lidded.

“I do appreciate warriors in uniform. Yours in particular.” The corner of the blond’s mouth lifted in a grin.

Bucky squeezed his cock sharply in reminder, rubbing the crown into the contour of his palm. His thumb flicked idly along the underside of the glans, a clapper to a flawless, plump bell.

His lover sighed, eyes lidded in pleasure. Giving too much attention might spoil whatever surprises lay ahead, but he could hardly restrict himself from unwrapping the best present of them all.

“You would. You're insatiable,” Bucky murmured.

“Only for you.”

He pulled the dark trousers open wider and gave a few more strokes so Thor stood at full attention. A slight slap to the underside of the cock assured no clothes got in the way. 

“What had you planned for this birthday feast?”

“Offering you an unforgettable experience with all the bounty of Asgard and Midgard at your disposal,” Thor replied.

Tipping his head, Bucky pretended to consider the offer, even as he privately turned over a dozen plans in order. “Where do we begin?”

“How would you wish to begin, sir?”

That casual address from his army days stirred Bucky's cock. With long practice, he gave a casual toss of his head, throwing his long, far from army regulation hair skimming over his shoulder.    
  
A good answer from the prince of an entire realm, the heir of the All-Father. He almost believed it was genuine. But a certain smug gleam from the half-dressed god of thunder beckoned a recorrection.

“Who am I to break with tradition?”

“Tradition?”

Catnip to a Siamese, the mention of tradition. Thor opened his eyes fully, fully interested. He hung on the silence stretching between them.

“Bend over the table, I'm giving you birthday spankings.”

Thor groaned softly.

“Get on all fours.”

Bucky needn't have looked about for a table within arm's reach. Thor's Greenwich Village residence was furnished completely in strong, durable pieces that skimped neither on elegance or the ability to withstand gale force winds. The expansive terrace lounge contained no less than three chaises and four tables, though only one particularly served his purpose.

He gestured, and the blond stalked across the room like he owned the whole world. His cock bobbed and slapped against his thigh, making the most harmonious music.

_ How can I want to mark and claim someone so bad?  _ A question the soldier often asked himself when in Thor's company, along with how he managed to win the karmic lottery for such a man to be in his bed. Even better, to be eager for his touch and all those things deemed heretical and degenerate in his time.

While the cold light slanted through the clouds, washing everything in a faint silvery glow, Thor bent over the table with care not to dislodge his pants more than he had. The dark fabric hugged his glutes and thighs in a completely obscene way, probably illegal still in thirty-one states.

 

* * *

 

Waiting on the Asgardian prince to settle, Bucky peeled himself off the wall. He knew every nook and cranny of the lofty apartment as well as the back of his own hand. Famous artwork in luminescent oils or bold marble statuary overlooked his progress while he sought the second door on his right.

The armoury, Bucky mentally christened the place. Not quite fair to call it a dungeon, as the cabinets on the walls and racks served no other purpose than storage. But a collection fit to make the kinkiest connoisseur blush represented only a fraction of Thor's  _ aides d’amour _ . Bucky saw the real library on his trip to Thor's private wing the last time they went to Asgard, one wrong turn -- or deliberately poor instructions on the prince's part -- delivering him into a dark heaven.

He sometimes wondered what about him could possibly interest the bohemian warrior, when he had literally all the worlds and some very beautiful men and women at his disposal. Thoughts unkind to Thor and unworthy of his birthday, he decided.

A quick rummage through the drawers turned up far more options than even his fertile imagination could provide, and Bucky settled on a flexible crop worthy of lashing some prehistoric sea monster with too many rows of teeth and a taste for fellatio. He gave a few practice swings to test the feel and winced at the resilience.

But Asgardians were a different breed. His fingers would sooner break than warm up Thor's skin. He thumbed the braided handle of the crop and palmed a lighter, a deviously curved plug, and four rather plain metal crescents that transformed into cuffs with the correct key. Fortunately that key -- a runestone with  _ Thurisaz  _ engraved on it, the very mark of Thor -- lay around his neck in place of metal dog tags.

“Happy fucking hundred and first birthday to me,” he murmured.

Bucky sauntered out, humming the old tune to  _ Happy Birthday  _ as he went.

 

* * *

 

Patience counted among the greater virtues of any Asgardian. With lifespan into the millennia, Bucky imagined they developed the trait with time or by necessity.

For him that meant Thor faced away from him on the table, propped up on hands and knees. He swiftly approached the prince, turning his feet just so to muffle his approach, relying on the native stealth once employed to murder unsuspecting captains of industry and enemies of the Soviet state.

“Od's blood!” cursed the blond, stirred from his contemplation of the dense city streets below when Bucky clamped the first cuff over his ankle and tapped the runestone. Bands of force melted into a solid gilded band almost as wide as a woman's hand. Supple lining conformed to the exact shape of Thor's leg -- another reason why Bucky preferred to use the Asgardian toys instead of his own. Besides, finding cuffs large enough for a man of his lover's size required custom work and he wasn't entirely made of money.

The shiver raced up the backs of Thor’s thighs and Bucky watched the way his back dipped, balls tight and heavy between his spread thighs. Always a good sign, for all the god of thunder needed to restrain himself by slow, cyclical breathing. Anticipation tiptoed close to the warrior's rage, and that warranted careful, slow progress on Bucky's part.

He applied the other cuff without a word, centering the hemisphere over Thor's ankle. The runestone did the rest, the anchoring chain linked to the eye bolts on the corners of the table affected by the same enchantment. He never questioned the origins of the sorcery, but Bucky suspected more than a little either Kara or Brunnhilde -- the resident Valkyries -- had something to do with it.

The other alternative didn't bear mention. Or thought. Dangerous to spend too much thought on his prince's ne'er-do-well brother said to be beautiful enough to charm stars from the sky.

Thor was quite enough. The idea of a sly, debonaire brother beggared reason.

“Present,” he hoarsely murmured.

Thor's hands spread out to grip the corners of the table, his towering height now tilted over, useless as a defense against whatever wicked intentions lay ahead. His breathing went particularly ragged as Bucky locked his wrists down, and the final enchantment on the united set formed solid but gossamer golden chains linked from the front handcuffs in a Y chain, whereas the back ended in a conspicuously wide loop.

Bucky raised his eyebrows. Ice transmuted to a white-hot blaze, his gaze riveted to the sight.

“A surprise, sir.” Thor didn't sound the least bit repentant.

“For your use or mine, I wonder?”

He reached for the chain and measured the length, which wasn't really enough to lock around Thor's throat even if he wore a collar -- and that he did not, the one deviation from typical behaviour neither of them cared for. With a collar followed a host of stigmas, and Bucky preferred to wrap his fingers around that thick neck when he needed anything there at all.

The prince chuckled softly, a sound trailing off to the firm thunderous retort cracking against his backside. Another three open-ended slaps landed.

Thor lowered his head and stiffened his shoulders like a bull preparing for a fight.

“Do those count for your birthday, sir?” he asked.

Bucky grabbed a handful of his beautiful hair and dragged his head back, the better to meet his eyes.

“Given ninety-eight more would follow, you better hope so.”

“Praythee demonstrate this fine tradition in honour of your natal day.”

The formal, courtly manner of speaking could take a whole upper division English literature class to decipher, but the cultivated diction predictably left Bucky jelly-kneed and hot. He leaned over and kissed Thor hard, cupping his face in both vibranium and flesh hands. Wrath cooled slightly and became something tangibly more dangerous for the course of the day.

“I shall, and leave you far from wanting due to my attentions,” the soldier murmured. He needed little time to figure out how the clover clamps worked, squeezing open the devices until flat golden jaws yawned wide.

Thor held perfectly still when he applied them, not even thrusting his chest out. Fortune held the cooler air left his nipples stiff enough, though Bucky rubbed one with his thumb. He snapped the clamp on and took a moment's pause when an electrical hum ran down the chain and vanished into the blue aural haze around the cuffs.

“Surprises everywhere.”

The thunderer hung his head and smiled that unconsciously confident, nearly smug way that anyone else would deserve to have slapped off. He continued to hold perfectly still when the second clamp joined the first, pulling out his pert nipple to a stiff rosy nub. A sky-blue spark danced along the fine golden chain and shot deep, forcibly arching his back.

Bucky felt the charge in turn dissipate into the vibranium of his prosthetic arm, charging up the stored energy. And he understood in a heartbeat. Thor supplied the means to generate a good hard spanking.

The final chain added a ring around Thor's cock, and he toyed with the hoop to determine how on earth gold might flex. His fingers pushed at the outer rim and the ring constricted around the hollow core, diminishing the span. Curiously the soldier wormed his middle digit into the space and flexed his knuckle until the expanding space accommodated his ring finger. He hooked another digit in and stretched out the fascinating device wide enough to take Thor's phallus.

Even so, the fit was narrow and required adjustment for the golden band to squeeze past the flaring edge of his bell end. Bucky pushed the band snug against the ridge where glans and shaft met, pinching just tight enough that the prince flexed in stifled appreciation.

The chain naturally tightened up and pulled his erect cock down at a shallow angle. It provided such a tempting view, and target, if anyone dared strike.

Bucky remained quiet, his usual way, the better to hear the shifts in breathing and those other subtle reactions that his lover so freely gave. He picked up the crop and trailed the end over the bound prince's backside, running a long arc from one hip to the other knee.

“Ninety-eight spankings left, one for every year.”    
  
Thor nodded.

“And one for luck,” he murmured, leaning over to press his lips in a kiss to the left buttock. Then seizing handfuls of fabric to rip the pants literally from Thor's body came so effortlessly. He flexed his shoulders. Threads snapped, fabric tearing along the central seam. He whisked away the pants until the bare curves of those muscular, strong buttocks waited for the kiss of the crop.

The prince would not wait for long.

Bucky took a few sharp strikes with the crop and the leather landed in resonating blows. Static electricity danced on the air between the chains suspended from Thor's clamped nipples. He flexed to ride out the initial sting, clearly affected as his ringed cock bobbed. A drop of precum landed on the table.

“You'll be cleaning that up,” growled the mortal.

“With pleasure,” Thor said, tacking on the necessary, “Sergeant Barnes.”

For that, he took a blow close to the top of the deep crevasse splitting his arse. Pleasured groans interspersed among the thunder accompanied the spanking, and for each five strikes, Bucky halted to rub his hand over the abraded, hot skin to take away some of that. He squeezed Thor on the hip.

“Pinch to grow an inch.”

“Am I not large enough for your liking?” hissed the blond, looking back over his shoulder.

“Impudent quim,” Bucky spat out.

Thor blinked, shocked into silence.

“I heard the story from Natasha.”

Another hard smack rippled at the point of collision between palm and thigh, right on the crease where Thor's tensed buttock met his leg. A sweet point to be marked with a crosshatch of weals, but for the moment, the stored kinetic energy forced the Asgardian prince to lurch forward fully in his bonds. The chain snapped tight and pulled his shaft back, hauled low.

He growled and the windowpanes rattled when the god's summons of the storm shaded the thick cumulus clouds a deeper charcoal.

Bucky lowered his mouth to the handprint and suckled, and soon those vibrations shaking the floor and the table to no particular end settled into regular, rhythmic crests. Heat broke the capillaries under the skin, marking Thor with his first love bite of the night.

“We're only at nineteen,” he said over another open smack from his hand.

“Twenty, sir,” Thor added. He arched his back as he could, not quite easing back into position. For that, Bucky decided on the anal plug as a reward.

Just not before he lightly tapped the tip of the crop against the heavy weight of those jewels awaiting for attention. “Five for every twenty strokes here, Thor.”

The prince's devil-may-care smile faltered.

“That's twenty total. A set for each act of insubordination.”

“There?”

“There or your cock. I will have you begging me to come and, no, you have no permission.”

Loose golden hair falling into his eyes, Thor strained forward until the chain tugged his phallus straight down as a thick arrow. He gripped the edges of the table hard enough to leave a few cracks in the polished surface.

For this, Bucky loved him. Who else would tolerate such depravity? Only this irrepressible, magnanimous spirit, a man without compare anywhere.

He tapped the crop in two sharp flicks of his wrist, placing a precise kiss right where the tight sack met the smooth skin of the perineum. Even that light caress earned a sharp inhale. By the fifth, Thor finally cried out, a low, rolling sound of shattered composure that threw motes of blue light into the air.

The light never faded while he took the spanking, each of those floating pinprick of light blazing hot as a candle on a cake. Except he was far superior to some vanilla frosted slab out of a bakery.

Bucky worked him over gladly, finding the fresh spots that forced the god to arch his back and thrust back, putting the strain on his extended arms. For that, the crop landed on his inner thighs and once or twice across his chest around the clamps dragging his nipples out taut and hard.

Neither of them were willing to accede to defeat. Bucky refused to disappoint Thor, and Thor would never countenance giving in before his mortal lover was done. His back and ass flamed as hot a shade as the discarded cape lying in a pool on the floor.   

Thor cried out his name in a waxing and wane volume while he counted out the score. At fifty, they halted for a moment. The silvery light of the grey afternoon poured over the blond prince, unable to diminish his brilliance in any fashion.

A moment spent lubing up the thin plug gave the mortal a chance to catch his breath and reassess. He parted the flaming cheeks framing the small puckered starburst, and smeared his oiled fingers around in small circles. Thor's balls, near as bright a rose as his nipples, throbbed visibly at the taunting digit circling his hole.

“Sir, have mercy. The machinations of your finger tease me unduly.”

“If you can still speak like that,” Bucky mused, “you must be well.”

He kept drawing circles, drizzling more lube across the contracted whorl until it softened slightly to the constant teasing. While Thor rocked slightly in time to him, he slowly traded out his metal finger for the sleek plug.

“I long to release, sir.” 

“Say it plainly.”

Thor sighed. “I need to come for you.”

“I know, love. You still can't come.”

He groaned again as Bucky shoved the plug into him in a solid, smooth motion. His hole greedily swallowed up the curved device and  held firm even when the curled base rested in a snug silvery loop protruding so lewdly from his pucker. The lone glint of the moonlight on the golden prince, and suitable.

Bucky couldn't resist hooking his finger into the loop and pumping the plug quick and fast,  the rounded head crashing straight into Thor's vulnerable prostate. Glittering tears of precum landed like molten diamond on the table, bright and sticky droplets that rained down just for him.

Another act of beauty on part of Asgard, the toy. That momentum continued in a much smaller scale even after he released his hand and listened to the plaintive grunts out of his lover.

The spanking began again, and Thor's cries grew louder, more strident, his body lurching in the golden cuffs as he rode the boiling heat. Bucky lavished focused attention around his lover's ass; the flick of the crop upon the blushed red rosette forced it to milk the slim neck of the plug over and over.

Lightning danced in the heavens above, forgotten by them. Sweat dripped from glistening bronzed skin, tanned and glorious.

Bucky gave the last six strikes with his hand, more clap than smack, and delivered a finishing touch by swatting that beautiful, straining cock on the gilded chain until it danced.

Breathing hard, his body taut and nearly as overwrought with the need for release as the Asgardian prince, he palmed his own cock into his hand. Shimmying out of his trousers took a few moments, and he started to stroke himself almost immediately.

Lost in the throes of pleasured submission, Thor could only moan his need in the lowest, filthy murmurings -- Aesir, that Bucky knew maybe one word in ten of. He understood enough. Fuck me. Come. My ass.

His fist moved faster. His voice was locked in his throat. No matter how much they made love, he rarely uttered a sound.

Head thrown back, he grasped Thor's hip and came in a rush on the inflamed buttocks and balls presented to him beautifully. Streaks of pearl wetness rolled down like a snowcapped volcanic peak.

“James.” Thor had an edge of desperation to his voice.

“Not yet.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's block and a desire to do truly right by these two -- offering them a poetic, sweeping epic -- took me longer to crystallize where I want to take them. Thank you for your patience, dear readers, if you've been waiting for this. The next installments shall be along shortly.


	3. Kenaz: The Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor looks good enough to eat, and who needs a birthday cake, anyway? With all the treats at his disposal, Bucky celebrates by adding candles to his bound prince.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thor has been awfully patient. For those waiting on seeing him get his just rewards, you won't be waiting *too* much longer. Feedback is always warmly welcomed.

_Love is in its essence spiritual fire._  
\-- Lucius Seneca

* * *

 

“Happy birthday to me.”

One hundred and one birthday spankings left their mark. The prince of Asgard had the most brilliant rose red flush to his tight buttocks and parted thighs. Bucky's come coated his burning flesh, running in slow rivulets down the divide. A silver hoop gleamed above the puckered whorl, clenched between his cheeks. The plug it crowned curved deep inside the blond man, dancing across his prostate.

Eight candles of varied width burned along Thor's spine. Wax slowly dribbled down the softened tapers and accumulated in spreading puddles. Hardened cones marked irregular circles on his warm copper skin. The flames leapt and wavered every time he moved, and the strain of holding himself motionless was the most apparent in his straining cock.

Glistening slickness dripped from the crown almost as regularly as wax ran down the shortened length of the candles.

“Does that plug feel good, your highness?”

“Yes.” Thor wrapped his hands around the rim of the table. None of the candles could remotely burn him, but the sizzling impact of another heated drop of liquid landed. He sucked in his breath through his teeth, a ragged unfurling.

A sight that Bucky would never grow tired of, from his place on a chair, sipping bottled water. Raising Thor's skin to such a ripe pink glow required considerable exertion in his part. The crop responsible lay between the prince's cuffed ankles in mimicry of a spreader bar.

Bucky's prosthetic arm fairly vibrated with the buzz of a summer thunderstorm, the kind that rolled across the cornfields of the Midwest during August. He'd never seen such a thing with his own eyes, but he could imagine the forking lightning in white-hot veins beneath bruised violet clouds.

“A pity we never thought to bring any cake or pastries closer. You could dine by candlelight,” Thor mused.

Bucky flexed the sides of the bottle and smiled over the mouth. “I never pegged you as one for romantic sentiments.”

Laughter shone upon the prince's lips. “In feudal Japan, did you know that a warrior was expected to demonstrate excellence in martial skills with the sword and cultivate cultural talents? Simply swinging a sword with any accuracy was insufficient to earn respect from his peers.” He exhaled and the candles bobbed where his back flexed. “Showing mastery of poetry, beautiful calligraphy, and other marks of sophistication set apart the best from the chaff.”

“I haven't much skill writing any poems worth hearing, but I like watching movies in the cinema and reading as much as anyone.”

“Then consider yourself a cut above. It stands a man who fights should also be a philosopher of a sort. Not necessarily paralyzed by thinking but, ah,” Thor winced when another drop of wax landed. One of the beeswax tapers melted faster than its peers, shrinking among an irregular trinity.

Bucky returned a haunted look, his lips full and parted. Whatever words meant to come alive vanished under the weight of silence and anticipation.

His fingertips hummed to the low cadence of stored energy, giving a pleasant murmur all the way up to his shoulder. He finished another mouthful of the cool water, gulping it down hastily. Not that the glass-walled terrace lacked for other refreshment. Glittering on their glass shelves, a full wall of liquors from across the Nine Realms offered every temptation barely three meters away

The crack of his hand against Thor's backside raised another pink mark atop the weals already left by the crop and his palm. Trapped in his bonds, the golden-haired man lurched forward and the candle flames bobbed dangerously.

“Have you mastered yourself yet?” he asked.

A man capable of decimating frost giants and flattening neighbourhoods with a swing of his hammer took several moments to compose a response.

“No, sir.

When he did, the whisper outshone the finest performances Bucky ever witnessed. Hoarse and rough, the prince's rich tenor voice scraped a nail over his consciousness.

How impossible, intolerably perfect in all ways Thor managed to be. By turns incredibly generous and insufferable, royalty raised to godhood. The soldier still wasn't sure why the prince of Asgard, of all people, went to such lengths to entertain him for his birthday.

Thor quivered on his hands and knees, locked into place atop a sturdy Asgardian table capable of handling even his considerable height and weight. Bucky casually spanked him a few more times, trusting in the anchors holding the prince fast. Runes glowing on the gilded cuffs anchoring his limbs contributed to the electrical current dancing up thin golden chains to tease his clamped nipples. A constant buzz rimmed the band secured around his prodigious cock.

If this was his only present, the soldier intended to make the most, milking all he could from every starry, impossible moment. Drawing in a deep breath, Bucky ran his hand down Thor's buttocks. He flitted between going hard and expressing his approval, a soft murmur.

“Control yourself. You're ready for more?”

Thor nodded, his loose hair scudding over his shoulders.

Not content to leave him teetering on the edge, the mortal reached under his hip. He grasped the golden chain and tugged, pulling Thor's phallus straight down to the table again. A constant buzz rimmed the band secured around his prodigious cock, and the crackling electricity traveled from his ankles to deliver low grade stimulation. The artistry between the pull on his nipples and his cock left the god writhing.

Bit by bit, the candles diminished in height and spattered more of their offerings in a cream and deep copper strata. That crust peeled away left the Asgardian prince gasping, his hands curling into fists.  

Bucky had to admit the design in the cuffs went straight to his uncomfortably tight pants. He released the chain and paused to admire the masterpiece of torment that Asgardians constructed for their pleasure play. The sort of thing left him indebted to a nameless craftsman in the past, and not just Thor for thinking to bring them along.

He plucked the flogger up and spanked Thor with a series of easy swats, ripening the brightness of the prince's buttocks until they burned. One candle wobbled right off his flexing back. It crashed to the ground and rolled away in a trail of molten gold wax, the flame flickering out.

“That's five more spankings,” Bucky said. “Don't let any further candles fall.”

“Yes, sir.”

His beautiful prince. Some faerie tales deserved degenerate, filthy endings instead of stopping when the hour struck twelve. He lined up the crop and gently prodded at the tight divide between Thor's buttocks. A thin rivulet of warm wax threaded ever lower and closer to the plug. He pressed his fingers into the narrow channel, spreading them apart to aid the wax descent.

“One,” he called, and the first blow landed two inches up from the flushed rosette.

Thor swore under his breath but maintained his composure.

“Two.”

Another blow landed, a half inch lower. The golden chains pulled tight against their banded anchors, and the reverie of blissful pain rolled over the statuesque man. For this reason, did mankind fall, Bucky thought idly.

The swish of the crop sang in a high zing right has he struck alongside the neck of the plug, the leather flag vibration up and down the looped neck.

Thor contracted tightly around the plug a heartbeat after the crop connected with his anal ring. No real force lay behind the strike; Bucky wanted to torment him, not hurt him. Anyone who couldn't tell the difference had no business wielding a weapon, much less against another person. The earlier spanking diminished his sensitivity, and the shock evaporated into stinging pleasure. Manic fluttering of the muscle shifted the toy and provided a faint glimpse of the reddened inner rim.

“Three,” Bucky said. His mouth went dry. Looking so good was a criminal act. The next spanking left Thor strung out, gasping his pleasure, asking for more.

Time ticked away, the dark clouds massed over New York promising a cold March shower. He headed for the bar where the masses of bottles and balloons from the birthday feast lay in unsorted heaps. Thor watched him, striving against the vibrations teasing his extremities and the plug humming against his prostate.

Every subtle motion conveyed itself through the curved device, and the initial tap that settled the slim plug in place still jackhammered that sensitive cluster of nerves with minute shifts. Thor had no escape from torment. The candles blazed.

_ The perfect cake.  _ It beat a beautiful woman or man busting out from one.

Bucky almost wished he could slide his finger in alongside and feel the ripples moving away from the epicenter. He knew from experience how much come the blond god produced when aroused; the soft pressure of a well-placed fingertip or cock made tremendous quantities truly outrageous.

The very idea of leaving a creamy white puddle under Thor stopped the mortal in his tracks. He combed back his dusky hair one handed while pillaging a drawer from a butane lighter. Three failed strikes followed until the flame lit, and he turned his attention to the bank of beeswax tapers.

“Sir…” Thor groaned from the terrace.

Bucky ignored him, bringing the flame to one candle after the other. Walking too quickly rather hurt.

Curse the golden-haired prince for being utterly captivating even in extremis, trying to maintain a sort of equilibrium. The strain of keeping the cuff from pulling on his cock subjected his nipples to the torturous kisses of the clamps.

Through the faint heat shimmer, the mortal saw the impact. Dark nubs transformed to a deep orchid stood above the biting flanges in the most remarkable way. Every time Thor flexed back against his spread calves, his wrists pulled on the golden cuffs and the clamps pulled hard on his flesh.

_ It should be illegal to look that mouthwatering. Seriously _ . Bucky nearly dropped the lighter, fortunately when Thor gazed at the floor beyond the table. Right then, the idea of suckling on those bound nipples distracted him from damn near everything else.

He'd never tried that, something on an impressive checklist of subjects to inflict on a willing, open-minded partner. The god of thunder topped that list.

“Just how many of these do you have?”

“Candles?”

_ Sir  _ better end more of those sentences, Bucky decided. He glanced meaningfully at the crop, and by extent, Thor caught his eye and looked back.

The cry of pleasure as his body strained against the careful balance more than made up for the underhanded sleight. The ring of the plug shifted over his backside subtly, and the chains jingled. Fresh waves of low-grade electricity stimulated those sensitive points, and Bucky choked on his own breath watching a slick strand of precum drip down from the prince's cuffed cock to the table.

“Yes, the candles. Did you bring me one for every year?”

Thor nodded tightly.

“Best I not waste the rest, then.”

Trimmed wicks erupted in bright golden warmth. He slowly moved his way along the row, counting thick stubs and thin candles. Evaporating shadows coalesced along the walls in the soft glow filling the room. Bucky carried several wax pillars into the terrace and placed them on the tables in clusters.

The longest burning candles were nearly ready and he retrieved them, carefully tilting the thinner taper this way and that. Melting wax rolled in molten waves around the wick. He pinched the sides to form a cauldron of high, ragged walls.

Thor was panting softly for breath, resolutely holding off whatever orgasmic high bedeviled him. His back stiffened beautifully when the dark-haired soldier drew near, any slack in his posture fading out.  

“Hold still,” Bucky said.

“Use me, sir.”

His heart damn near stopped beating as if a lightning bolt struck him from a cloudy sky. He rocked back on his heels.

Exquisite, the taste of obedience. Only someone supremely assured of themselves bowed their head and offered their body to another without a ghost of hesitation.

Steve told him, once, about the awe he held for those who entrusted him to lead through perilous times. That sense of profound wonder and amazement anyone followed in his wake never left. Funny telling  _ him _ that, given Bucky damn near followed Captain Rogers to Hell and back. But for once, the sentiment made the utmost sense.

Thor waited long enough, though he might stay on his hands and knees until the moon crashed into the sea. Only the dappling of perspiration against his hairline indicated how badly desire taxed his legendary endurance.

Bucky held his breath for a moment, and then dared to bring the longer, thinner of the two tapers close. Its heat left a trail along the inner apex of the prince's spread legs, and his hole tightened up around the slender plug in anticipation.

“You're psychic, huh?”

“Pardon?” Thor blinked and stirred himself from the reverie consuming him. His rosette clenched tighter around the slim neck of the toy. “Nay, I make no claim to mental powers.”

Bucky grinned. “Just a good guess, then.”

His thumb traced the softly crenellated ridge pulling in the toy, and he started to fuck Thor with deep, lazy strokes. Every time the slim plug bottomed out, he painted half-circles prodding every direction except the nerve cluster deep within. That sacred spot lacked his attention.

Slow, methodical plundering of Thor's hole left the blond prince fighting to hold back sounds of pleasure. Two sharp taps against his prostate painted gasps and a cry broke past his lips.

Attracted by that clear sense of weakness, Bucky tipped over the candle and dribbled a dollop of wax on a spot where his come had not dried. Rosy skin vanished under a spreading blob.

The next cry was louder by surprise rather than anger or pain.

Several of the oldest candles shrank down to cooling mounds, painted in shades of softest white to oily, metallic brass and antique gold. Stripes wrapped around his heaving ribcage. Another few splotches peeled away while he laboured, exposing pinked skin underneath. Thor resembled nothing so much as a hero of yore draped under a multicoloured cloak.

The fresh candles added to the spots not already wax-dipped. One drop after another landed while he thrust the plug in, never much deviating from the deliberate rhythm. Thor took the strokes while shaking in his bonds, and soon started pushing back to meet Bucky's hand. No matter the clamps pulled tight on his abused nipples or the chains drew up straight.

Bucky pressed his shoulder into the prince's flank, pouring streams of candle wax over his lover. He felt a little like Jackson Pollock constructing a new piece of art. Splattered wax cooled and contracted, sticking tight.

“Happy birthday to me,” he sang as he worked.

After multiple lines crossed the gentle furrow of Thor's spine, he poured puddles at random. Balanced dots spread out over one rib, and gathered in a mound right over the dimple parallel to his tailbone. Throughout Thor's voice rose in a steady crescendo to a sustained moan, practically sobbing every time the flame liked past and fresh wax spattered down.

Two twists and Bucky thrust in the unlit end of the candle into that yielding pink hole, right beside the plug. Dangerous, yes, but he drilled in inch and a half of the taper further past the reddened pucker. The candle stuck out at an angle to drip wax onto the floor and just as much dribbled down.

The other prepared pillar, fatter and more abundant, awaited him. He massaged Thor's flogged testicles with his warm fingers, flesh meeting flesh in a tender kiss. Their weight he adored. Even as the prince shut his luminous sky-blue eyes, he sobbed in pleasure as the first sizzling line of wax landed on the tight sack.

“Don't you dare come. I will have candles on my cake, Thor.”

Thor's teeth clenched and he hissed, “Let me come, please.”

“No,” he hissed and dribbled more wax at the very point where Thor's buttocks converged. A small triangular mount formed in the palest of cream, so contrasted against the rich coppery gleam of his skin.

So close those tongues of wax reached, but not close enough. He tipped over the candle.

A splattering trail ran down into the divide. Bucky pumped the plug deep and slow again. A heartbeat later, he pinched out the wick on the warm taper jutting out from Thor's hole. Not that the straining prince took any notice, desperately trying not to thrash in his bonds while the streams of dried wax coated his back. For all he knew, that taper was still aflame and slowly fucking his ass.

The candle dissolved into a track of molten desire around the flexing hole violated by the other taper and the plug. Heat blossomed in dribbled petals and layers, accumulating in a thick crescent along the entrance.

Thor stood a fingersbreadth- from sobbing in pleasure, begging to come. Every thrust grew stronger as he approached the point of no return, and his ringed cock dripped a steady gossamer cobweb from the tip.

“Happy birthday, dear James,” the mortal whispered almost reverently.

He set the candle down on the table and plucked the filmy corner of the wax. Once he was certain of his hold, he dragged it away, lifted off Thor's skin.

“Happy birthday to me.”

Thor came, back arching, glutes shaking and straining. The whites of his eyes reflected the golden light from countless directions, and the chains clanked in bright melodies as he tested the strength of those bespelled cuffs at his ankles and wrists.

Watching the tempest ravage him, Bucky leaned forward and marked the line of his thigh with two hard bites. The crescent marks stood out in sharp relief. He continued to roll and corkscrew the plug and candle together, prolonging the crest of that well-earned climax.

White ropes poured onto the table and splashed their knees, even staining Bucky's dark trousers. He managed not to lose himself to the sight by massaging that tender cluster of nerves hidden deep inside Thor, the candle and humming plug both serving their purpose well. Another clenching of muscles followed a weaker release, liquid heat added to the dried wax and spreading puddle.

The plunging strokes continued until barely a few drops leaked out from Thor's cock, and he shook uncontrollably atop the polished wooden table.

His come flooded around the crop between his legs. The plug landed in the glistening mess, a candle bouncing past. Bucky hooked his thumbs both into the rosy pucker, stroking them in deep and out again.

“What's my next surprise, Thor Odinson?”  


End file.
